


Being Honest

by Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage



Series: Inimitable, Original [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Coming Out, FTM John Watson, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, John is scared, M/M, Mentions of bad family relationships, Not Beta Read, Sherlock makes it better, Trans Male Character, Trans! John Watson - Freeform, Transgender John Watson, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 18:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/pseuds/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage
Summary: John feels as though he's not been honest with Sherlock and it's holding him, and their potential relationship, back. So, one day, he decides to open up.





	Being Honest

**Author's Note:**

> Another trans!John fic I wrote at about 2 am, way too early. This was another mini vent fic with a positive end, I hope anyone who reads will enjoy.  
> This is very similar to my own coming out story, with a twist or two to not be exact. :) Until next time!

Sherlock slammed the door to 221b Baker Street and slouched against the painted wood, chest heaving as he panted. Blood stained his white button up shirt and his coat, smeared across his face and hands. Quite frankly he looked frightful, an experiment having gone rather wrong and leaving him looking like a serial killer. 

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson hissed from her door, lips curved into a delicate frown as she folded her arms over her chest. "If I find my walls bloodstained again I won't be cleaning it this time. I'm not your housekeeper."

"Alright Mrs Hudson," the detective rolled his eyes and grinned, deciding to make his way up the stairs and practically bounce into the flat.

There was the murmur from the telly as it served to be background noise, John Watson sat in his chair reading the paper intently. On the doctors hand there was the remnant of bubbles, the type that arose when filling the sink with fairy washing up liquid. Glancing to the kitchen Sherlock could see it had been scrubbed clean, any and all experiments had been packed away for now. John had been busy on his first day off in a month. Too busy in fact. The kind of busy that meant John was avoiding something.

"Tea?" he offered, seeming to break his flatmate out of whatever drivel he was reading at the time. 

He would be lying if the shock on John's face didn't amuse him greatly.

"Not bloody likely. Go and get washed up, I'll make the tea." John rolled his eyes and rose from his seat, joints complaining as he did so and making him groan quietly. He brushed past Sherlock and gave him a meaningful look towards the bathroom before putting the kettle on.

The taller man gave an indignant huff, almost like his elder brother Mycroft, before flouncing off to the bathroom for a quick shower. He was pretty sure neither John nor Mrs Hudson would appreciate blood everywhere. He was also sure he'd be made to clean it up. 

When he returned to the living room a steaming mug was waiting for him alongside a plate of gingerbut biscuits. A grumble from his stomach told him he hadn't eaten in a while and there was a sneaking suspicion John knew. So, he practically flung himself into his chair and began to nibble.

"So, dare I ask what this experiment was this time?"

Sherlock gave a grin and shook his head, folding one leg over the other at the exasperated tone of John's voice. "Not really, it would probably bore you." He shifted his weight back so he was slouching in his chair. "A little bit too complicated for-"

"For the ordinary mind. I get it." 

They sat in silence for a while, Sherlock munching on his biscuits and John choosing to ignore him in favour for the telly. It gave Sherlock an excuse to study John intently without fear of being questioned. The way the man's right leg was bouncing suggested energy, perhaps a little bit of agitation. judging by the hand clenched close to his thigh. His teeth were slightly clenched as though he were holding back from speaking, eyes remaining on the program playing but not really paying attention. Something was bothering the doctor then. 

"Whatever it is just say it, John." He scolded at last, exaggerating the roll of his eyes and sighing heavily. "I can practically hear your mind working and its very distracting."

The sudden speech made John jump, staring at the detective in surprise as he tried to formulate a response. It took a couple attempts before he gave a bitter smile and gave a huff of laughter. "At least it doesn't lower the IQ of the whole street, eh?" 

"No, Anderson suffers from a particularly cruel level of stupidity. You, fortunately, are more intelligent than him." 

"Cheers." He sighed once more and shuffled uncomfortably, "look, I've not been completely honest with you... from the moment we met. Things moved so fast, y'know? You tend to let things slide when you don't know when your life's going to be threatened or thrown into chaos." There was a faint smile, "but I feel like a pretty crap mate if I keep lying. I don't want you deducing me or what I'm trying to say, lemme come clean. If what I say makes you uncomfortable I'll... I'll leave. See if I can get my old place back."

"John," Sherlock seemed to blanch at the suggestion, shaking his head with a grimace. "Whatever you're about to say I'm sure is more than acceptable. I'm not about to jump at the opportunity for finding another flatmate so soon." 

"I'm trans."

The statement was unexpected and John had flinched as though expecting to be struck. Sherlock merely sat there in silence, processing this new information and raising a brow. He had missed this data, how had he missed it?

"Transgender?"

"Yep... I, uh, started hormone therapy at eighteen. Never looked back in all honesty, Samantha Watson had long been dead in my mind before then." John swallowed, not knowing where to look as he once again shifted in his seat. "I didn't know how to tell you, its kind of an odd topic-"

"John."

"- and I mean I don't know what you think on the subject or how you feel about the fact I lied or-"

"John?"

"- I was scared you'd hate me, Sherlock. Everyone does once they find out. My parents, Harry, my old mates from school. Samantha was the only person they wanted to know, they never gave John, me, the chance I deserved. I bloody deserved to be treated normally, didn't I?" 

Suddenly this was more than fessing up a secret, Sherlock realised. This was about trust, about being vulnerable in a way that had damaged John time and time again. This was about being shunned, not given the support he needed and deserved. This was about letting Sherlock into the most private part of his world and Sherlock felt honoured at the thought of it. 

John letting out a sob caused him to snap back to reality, the tears rolling down the doctors frozen face as he awaited Sherlock's reaction. He was weak and Sherlock hated seeing him so broken.

"John Watson, you are my best friend, correct?"

There was a weak nod.

"My flatmate. Captain. Doctor. Terrible cook and obsessor of wool jumpers?"

Another nod was given, the man silent as he listened.

"I appreciate you confessing to me the truth of your youth, but the circumstances in which you became John Watson doesn't matter. You have always been John Watson and you always will be, do you understand this?"

John was dumbfounded, eyes wide as he realised the detective wasn't rejecting him. He was... he was being kind. Something he hadn't expected in the slightest.

"And to suggest moving out over something like that. Honestly John, its as though you don't know me at all!" He gave a chuckle, watching John's lips curl into a slightly wider smile. Yes, that was it, he thought. He wanted to see him smile. "Might I ask you a question, though?"

"Uh... sure?"

"Is this why you have refused to confess yet?"

There was an embarrassed splutter as John's cheeks began to burn. "Confess?! Confess what? There's nothing to confess!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave an indignant bark of laughter, "well I'm growing impatient of waiting, John! I will die before you get round to it, its positively dull." His eyes twinkled as the realisation dawned on the man.

"I, wait... you?" He gasped, "I swear to bloody god if you're messing around-"

"I assure you I'm not. Judging by your reaction my assumption is correct, you hadn't confessed your feelings because you were afraid. I suggest-"

Lips against Sherlock's suddenly stopped him from speaking and he grinned a little, a hand coming to stroke John's warm cheek to comfort the trembling man. 

"Don't say another bloody word, Sherlock Holmes. Just say this isn't an experiment. Say that you genuinely don't mind."

"John Watson, I swear this is no experiment. You want this as do I and you know," he pulled the man onto his lap and laughed at the roll of John's eyes, "I, more often than not, get what I want."

They kissed for the next half hour contently, stroking at their faces, shoulders, anywhere that felt comfortable. Sherlock kept whispering John's name, murmuring little phrases of sentiment that he couldn't believe he was hearing from a man deemed incapable of such. It was assurance, John realised as he tipped his head back and allowed Sherlock to kiss the hollow of his throat. Assurance that he was here and he wasn't going anywhere. Assurance that he wanted to be with John, assurance that he was wanted.

For the first time, John felt like he belonged.


End file.
